


Devotion and Desire

by Halcy (halcyonweekend)



Category: Metal Gear
Genre: Blood and Gore, Gen, Gore, Hard vore, No Plot/Plotless, OOC-ish, The Phantom Pain era, Vore
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-31
Updated: 2014-07-31
Packaged: 2018-02-11 06:18:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,123
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2057073
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/halcyonweekend/pseuds/Halcy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sick fantasies become delicious reality with the slash of a knife. Ocelot shows his dedication to Big Boss through and through.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Devotion and Desire

**Author's Note:**

> Commission for Novi! [@kazisvulnerable on tumblr] This is the first time I've written vore but I had a lot of fun with it, I hope it's as visceral as I think it is.

Snake looked more beaten up than usual, dried blood on his fatigues, bruises browning out. Even the drag of his cigar seemed labored. "Every single step I take, you're right behind me. Every move, every word, you'll follow suit."

"I wouldn't be much of a right hand man if I didn't keep my eye on you. Besides, you're the boss, what good would it do me to disobey orders." Ocelot slowly moved around the flimsy metal table, spurs clicking against the concrete.

"But even Kaz couldn't keep this close. It almost cost him his life, and a few limbs." Suspicions nagged at him like the dull pain his new horns brought.

"Is that a threat? If I stay too close, I'll end up in a gurney?"

"Depends. On what you're telling Cipher." A puff of thick smoke clouded their visions before Ocelot fanned it away.

"I'm not Miller. I may have duped you before, but I've always been here for you, Snake." Boss could feel copper and bile on his tongue. "Everything I've done and everything I'll do, is for you." He sounded like he was making a lifelong commitment so nonchalantly.

"Would you die for me, Ocelot? Would you take a hail of gunfire for me? Would you drag your pathetic, dying body just to protect me?" He pushed himself off the wall, arms still crossed, embers burning bright in the darkness.

"If you have to ask, then you weren't paying attention."

Snake took a few steps forward, until personal boundaries became apparent, and leaned in, stubble brushing against Ocelot's cheek. "You weren't listening. Would. You. Die. For me?"

"As many times as needed." Though they weren't truly touching, Snake felt the Ocelot's pulse speed up, more blood pumping to keep up with the oxygen.

"Then...die for me Adamska." The blade sliced through layers of leather and cloth, blood freed from its flesh prison. Ocelot couldn't help but lean back, only to be eased back deeper into the steel. Snake placed an arm around him, a warped parody of comfort as Ocelot coughed blood onto his shoulder.

"John--" There was no struggle and resistance, save for some sinew refusing to sever. Ocelot's breathing became shallow, and his speeding pulse continued until it couldn't anymore. 

The pain in his head intensified, and the copper taste flooded his senses, but as his lips grazed the dying man's neck, he swallowed his saliva and opened his mouth. Teeth gently pressed into it just as a playful nip would, until the pressure increased, and his jaws clamped down. With a forceful shove, both the knife and his teeth was torn away. The scrap of flesh between blood stained lips was so large, that he couldn't swallow it. The taste of sweat and the rawness, the freshness was too good not to savor. He dragged his tongue against the stubble still left on that part of skin. He chewed and swallowed it with a lot of difficulty...but it tasted so good.

When it was only just a thought, unreachable, senseless, it tasted like steak would, or maybe chicken. But as Ocelot's flavor lingered, he knew this was a different type of delectable.

Ocelot had crashed into the table, his back lying flat and limp on the surface. He was still alive, still conscious, but with a bit of urging, he wouldn't be for long. Replacing the blade, Snake stuck two fingers into the stab wound, coaxing the skin and teasing the intestines like he would with a lover in another world. There were only weak exhales, not even a groan of pain. Testing him, he slipped in four fingers, playfully wiggling them before grabbing hold of something...thick. Slipping his thumb in with a bit of difficulty, he tugged and tugged on the organ. Grabbing his blade with a free hand, he started on the left and continued to cut against the flesh, opening up the wound and letting more crimson pool onto and around his boots.

With more maneuverability, he began easing out an intestine. There was so much of Ocelot, and who knew how much time he had left until someone interrupted, or the world's end. With no grace, he began chomping and shamelessly slurping up the blood and gore. There was so much to eat, and nothing to drink, the bile in his stomach rising up against the fresh meat.

He doubled over on the corpse, nothing but bloody saliva coming from his lips. He tossed the remains aside, and straddled Ocelot. He leaned down to lick at the initial neck wound, teasing the muscle with his tongue. Snake laced fingers with Ocelot, and as he sat back up, brought the knuckles to his lips. "You were right, Adam." He gave them a kiss before breaking each finger until bone revealed themselves. He sliced down his forearm and spread it open as much as he could.

Snake tore and ripped as much of his upper clothes away as he could, the coat falling long before his death. He couldn't focus on a single spot as he sliced off flesh and muscle from the forearm, all the way up to the shoulder. There were still scraps of cloth, but he brushed them off as he brought a piece to his teeth. This time he quelled as much of his lust as he could, ripping off parts and chewing them until it ached. 

With each slash of the knife, another bit of flesh was swallowed, choked down as much as possible. He knew with this much blood in him, he would reach his limit and become dangerously intoxicated. Maybe this was the way he wanted to go, he pondered as his teeth sunk into his chin. He jerked his head back, and with his teeth and force of will, peeled off flesh from resistant muscle. From what he couldn't pull off, the serrated knife did, and much more cleanly. With dry bloodied gloves, he held the mask that Ocelot wore for so long and admired it. "I never did tell you how nice you looked. He gave the lips hanging apart a kiss, his tongue wiggling between the open space. As he pulled back, he opened his mouth and leaned up, lowering it and swallowing it without a second thought.

"What a mask." He snorted, as his hands continued to root around in his rib-cage.

When the soldiers found them lying side by side on the table, held up only by the grace of god, or the curse of the devil, they asked no questions and made no decisions outside of what they were told.

'Whatever mess ends up in there, clean it up, burn the corpse, and turn the ashes into a trophy."


End file.
